Page 10

T he two guards who flank me are silent, their massive forms a constant, unnerving presence.

They escort me from Jaro's dwelling, through the settlement of Vara-Ka, towards a fate I cannot predict.

My scientific mind tries to catalog the details: the architecture that is a fusion of organic growth and sophisticated engineering, the complex social strata I can only guess at, the way the very air seems to hum with a life force my instruments could never measure.

But fear, a cold and logical variable, keeps overriding my analysis.

The guards lead me to a structure in the center of the settlement, one that seems to grow out of the very earth.

It's semi-subterranean, its entrance a gaping maw of dark, carved stone that descends into the ground.

Ancient symbols, glyphs I don't recognize, are etched into the lintel, a silent testament to the weight of the history contained within.

A council chamber, my translator had supplied when Jaro was summoned. A place of judgment.

My heart, that traitorous organ, hammers against my ribs. The crescent mark over it pulses with a faint, anxious heat. Is Jaro feeling this too? This cold dread?

The air grows cooler as we descend. The atmosphere is heavy, thick with the scent of damp stone, burning herbs, and the collective tension of a tribe at a crossroads.

The chamber opens up into a vast, circular space.

The walls are smooth, carved with millennia of history.

Glowing crystals embedded in the stone cast a low, solemn light.

I see them then. The council.

They sit in a tiered semicircle on carved stone thrones.

In the center, on a slightly elevated dais, sits a Xylosian even larger than Jaro.

His navy-blue skin is a roadmap of scars and intricate leadership markings.

His amber eyes, though dimmed with age, hold an undeniable power.

This must be his father, the chief. Torq.

To his right and left sit elders, their faces wizened, their expressions grim.

Below them, an array of ranking warriors watch with crossed arms and stony faces.

And there, standing alone in the center of the chamber, is Jaro.

His back is to me, but I can see the rigid set of his shoulders, the formal, defiant posture. He is a prince before his people, a warrior facing a tribunal. And I am the cause of it.

The guards escort me to a designated spot near the edge of the chamber, a place for an observer, an outsider. I am a specimen to be examined, a variable in their political equation. No one looks at me, yet I feel the weight of every gaze in the room.

The silence is a living thing, heavy and suffocating. Then, a voice cuts through it, sharp and cold.

It's Vex. Jaro's cousin. The warrior whose eyes held nothing but challenge. He steps forward from the ranks of warriors, his posture a mockery of deference.

“Chief Torq, honored elders,” he begins, his voice ringing with false piety. “I come before you today with a heavy heart, for the honor of our tribe and the stability of our leadership are at risk.”

He turns, and his amber eyes, so unlike Jaro's, land on me. There is no warmth, only cold calculation.

“Our warrior-prince, Jaro, who is to be our future, has fallen victim to a bond-curse. He has been bound to an alien.” He points a clawed finger at me.

“An unknown entity with unknown motives. Our ancient laws are clear: a leader cannot be bound to an outsider. Such a bond divides loyalties. It weakens the will. It invites contamination.”

Contamination? He's calling me a disease. A parasite.

Vex turns back to the council. “How can Jaro lead us, protect us, when his very heart is tethered to a creature from another world?

A creature whose biology we do not understand, whose presence here is an anomaly.

The heart-bond is a sacred, powerful thing.

But when it binds our prince to a foreign body, it becomes not a strength, but a poison.

I challenge Jaro's fitness to lead. For the good of the tribe, he must be set aside.”

The chamber erupts in hushed, angry whispers. I see warriors nodding in agreement. I see others looking to Jaro, their expressions conflicted.

One of the elders, a female with skin the color of a twilight storm, raises a hand for silence. Ancient texts, bound in some kind of hide and etched on thin metal plates, are brought forward.

“The law is not so clear, Vex,” she says, her voice like stones grinding together. “The heart-bond has not been seen in generations. The ancient texts speak of it as a great omen, a sign of a new age.”

“An omen of what?” Vex shoots back. “Destruction? The end of our bloodlines? The texts also warn of outsiders who bring ruin.”

Another elder, this one with braids threaded with polished teeth, speaks up. “The warnings speak of those who come with malice. This female came in a broken sky-vessel. She fights for her own survival. She has shown no malice.”

“Her very existence is a threat!” Vex argues, his voice rising. “She has already changed him. He is distracted, his judgment clouded. He defies tradition for her. Is this the leader we want?”

The debate rages. They argue over interpretations of laws written before their ancestors settled in this valley.

They discuss the heart-bond as if it's a mythical beast, something from a story told to frighten children.

Some see it as sacred, a sign of destiny.

Others see it as a dangerous weakness, a contamination of their pure lineage.

And I stand here, the focal point of it all, unable to follow the nuances of their debate. My translator buzzes, catching fragments, pieces of a puzzle I can't solve. Aberration. Omen. Strength. Contamination. Loyalty. Betrayal.

They are debating my right to exist, my impact on their future.

My scientific mind wants to scream. This is not superstition!

It is a quantifiable biological event! There are physiological markers, neurochemical reactions.

This can be studied, understood! But my words are useless here.

My science is a foreign language in a world governed by tradition and instinct.

Then, the chamber falls silent. Chief Torq, who has listened without expression, raises his head. His gaze, heavy with the weight of decades, settles on me. He lifts a single, powerful hand and gestures for me to step forward.

My legs feel like lead. The two guards behind me give me a slight, almost imperceptible nudge.

I walk to the center of the chamber, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

I stop a few paces from Jaro, but he doesn't look at me.

He stares straight ahead at his father, his face a mask of iron control.

“You,” the Chief's voice booms, the single word echoing in the stone chamber. My translator renders it cleanly. “The alien female. You may speak.”

This is it. My one chance. What can I say? How can I defend myself in a language of symbols and guttural sounds I barely understand? How do I explain who I am, what I am, to a people who see me as a curse or an omen?

I take a deep breath, forcing my voice to remain steady, my posture calm. Project confidence, Kendra. Data is on your side, even if they don't know it.

“My name is Dr. Kendra Miles,” I begin, my voice clearer than I expected. My translator renders the sounds, though I cannot know how they hear them. “I am a scientist. A xenobotanist. My mission was one of peaceful research.”

I try to explain the malfunction of my ship, the crash, my solitary struggle for survival.

I try to convey that I mean no harm, that my presence here is an accident of physics and failed technology, not a malicious invasion.

I speak of my desire to understand their world, not to conquer or change it.

My words feel small, inadequate in this vast, ancient chamber.

They are lost in the chasm of cultural and linguistic difference.

I see it in their faces-the blank incomprehension, the deep-seated suspicion.

My calm demeanor, my analytical gaze, seems to impress a few of the more pragmatic-looking elders, a stark contrast to Vex's emotional, fiery rhetoric. But it's not enough.

When I finish, the silence is thick and heavy. I have presented my case, laid out my data. But the verdict will not be based on logic. It will be based on fear, tradition, and the tangled web of their tribal politics.

Then Jaro speaks.

He doesn't look at me, but I feel his words are for me as much as for the council.

“She is not a curse,” he says, his voice a low, powerful rumble that commands attention. “She is a survivor. I have seen her courage. I have seen her intelligence. She faced the predators of our forest alone and fought them with fire and with a mind that sees things we do not.”

He turns his head slightly, and his amber eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second. The look is full of a fierce, possessive pride that makes my breath catch.

“You see an alien,” he continues, turning back to the council. “I see a warrior in a different form. Her knowledge of this world's plants could be a greater weapon than any spear. Her resilience is a match for any Xylosian. To call her a weakness is to be blind to the true nature of strength.”

He takes a step forward, his presence filling the chamber.

“The heart-bond is not a contamination. It is a fusion.

It has made my senses sharper, my instincts stronger.

It has shown me that our tribe's future may depend on more than just brute force and ancient laws. It may depend on our ability to adapt, to see strength in what is different.”

He consciously keeps the full truth of our connection to himself. He doesn't mention the shared dreams, the empathic link. He knows they would see it as a sign of his mind being compromised, his will subsumed by mine. He is playing their game, using their language, fighting for me on their terms.

The council is silent, a sea of unreadable faces. Vex looks furious, his argument blunted by Jaro's unexpected defense. The elders murmur amongst themselves, their gazes shifting between Jaro, me, and the ancient texts.

Finally, Chief Torq rises.

The chamber holds its collective breath.

“The council is divided,” he announces, his voice echoing with finality. “The laws are old, their meanings debated. The heart-bond is a power we no longer fully understand.”

He looks at Jaro, a complex mix of fatherly pride and chieftain's duty in his eyes. Then he looks at me, and his gaze is like being weighed and measured on a cosmic scale.

“A temporary ruling is declared,” he says. “The female, Kendra Miles, will remain in Vara-Ka. She will be under the protection of Jaro, and under the observation of this council.”

A murmur of dissent comes from Vex's supporters, but the Chief silences it with a single, sharp glare.

“We will consult the deeper lore. We will observe the development of this bond. We will see if it brings strength, as Jaro claims, or weakness, as Vex fears.” He pauses, his gaze sweeping the chamber.

“When the triple moons next align, the council will reconvene. At that time, a final judgment will be made.”

He strikes the stone floor with the butt of a ceremonial spear, and the sound is a gavel, ending the hearing. The council members begin to disperse, their whispers filling the air.

Jaro walks to my side, his hand hovering near my back but not touching. The guards who escorted me here fall in behind us.

The hearing is over, but the trial has just begun.

I step out of the council chamber and back into the alien sunlight, but I feel no warmth. I am a variable in a long-term experiment. My life, my freedom, and the fate of the warrior-prince who is impossibly, inexplicably bound to me, all hang in the balance.

I have been granted a temporary reprieve, a stay of execution.

But I am still a prisoner, trapped not by walls, but by the intricate, invisible web of Xylosian politics and a biological bond I am only just beginning to comprehend.

The depth of the mire I've fallen into is vast, and I know, with a chilling certainty, that my survival is no longer just my own.

It is inextricably linked to Jaro's battle for his future, and for the soul of his tribe.